Hypothesis
by MiriahoftheWind
Summary: Jonathan Crane has been rejected so much in his life he's forsaken all forms of affection...but that doesn't mean he doesn't still think about it. Deep in Arkham Asylum The Scarecrow reflects on his crush in the only language he knows. Series of one shots
1. What is love?

((A/N: Set in Arkham Asylum it's a Scarecrow/Any girl, really. I wanted to toy with the idea of how he'd come to terms with affection while still under the influence of his trauma growing up.))

It's almost painful sitting here watching her. The man jittered in his seat wanting to say something, anything. He wanted her attentions so bad it nearly burned his skin. He wondered what it would be like to kiss her. Would his lips tingle? Maybe it would feel like when he pressed his top lip to the bottom one. He squeezed them gently pretending he was deep in thought while reading his book. Was this right? He moistened his lips and tried again. Maybe it had to be someone else's lips. The adrenaline rush between anticipation of pleasure and the fear of rejection, perhaps? That was a fear he lived with everyday. He knew that his heart would pound in his chest like it did that Halloween night in Jeffrey Green's basement right before kissing Sherri Squires. His head would reel and his sense of smell would heighten, but what about the rest of his body?

Would his palms sweat? Would his knees shake? Would his stomach drop as it does in a state of fear? How were love and fear similar? (The Scarecrow had little interest in the difference). However it was impossible to determine the answer without proper experimentation. Observation, on the other hand, would make his violently ill. _She_ was _his_…even if nobody else knew that yet and **nobody** would be allowed to so much as **breathe** on her without feeling the wrath of the Master of Fear. He mused slightly on how his body would react if she touched him? Impossible to answer.

The virgin little known as Jonathan Crane had never been kissed nor touched. He had been hit, for sure, punched, whipped, pecked at by crows, burnt, punished but not _touched_. Not like that night he held Sherri's hand on the stairs of the basement. His great-grandmother had maintained him but not loved him. They weren't the same, the intent made all the difference and it was the intent that was so foreign to him. But how to get her to agree? Socially awkward as he was he knew better then to just walk up to her and say, "I'd like to experiment with actions and reactions of a deep intimate physical relationship with you." She might misuse him, or worse, laugh at him. He couldn't, _wouldn't_, stand it the second time! It had taken him years to heal from those old wounds, even after Sherri's and Bo's death. Even the memory of her mocking laughter made him want to go back to his cell and die.

"Professor Crane?" He raised his head like a startled bird. How did she sneak up in front of him like that? She handed him the thick green text.

"Ah, uh, thank you. How did you like it?" He asked her tentatively.

"It was alright, it's not Thomas Aquinas or anything. I like the part on how words can't fully represent reality. Maybe a true Nietzsche essay would be a blank page." She joked but the former psychiatrist only raised an eyebrow.

"Quite. Well. I'm sure you have other things to tend to." He replied uncomfortably. Thomas Aquinas? Was she serious? She became uncomfortable in return.

"Yeah, I'll see you later." And with that she left him. Thomas Aquinas? She _enjoyed_ that religious dribble? And she seemed like such a suitable companion, almost as much as a bibliophile as him. As the orderlies returned him and the other patients to their cells he pondered over her response some more. She wasn't fond of Nietzsche yet she had given him an honest, if not misunderstood, response. If she was really trying to lure him in a false sense of security for her own amusement she would agree with everything he did and said. Instead she had disappointed him and, in some weird way, gave him the first real connection he'd ever had with a woman.

Was this what an honest crush felt like? Fantasy, disappointment, revelation, enlightenment, and then affection? Only one thing could be sure: Her response and his reaction had made him want her all the more. He crawled into bed his back facing the observation window so nobody could see him sigh. He couldn't wait for breakfast tomorrow and quietly wondered what her opinions on the power of fear would be.


	2. Why Can't I Forget You?

It's hard. Almost impossible but he has a job to do. Fear leads to empathy. Empathy leads to compassion and kindness. Without fear there is only self centeredness and pain and Jonathan Crane will not tolerate it. He slipped through the shadowed hallways of Arkham Asylum unnoticed…for now. Soon it would he would be out of there and on his way to freedom. Anyone would be excited…why wasn't he?

It was because of her. Crane felt a pang in his heart but kept going. He fully realized that he didn't _want_ to leave her behind. Not in this horrible place, to be tortured, to be used, to be abandoned! Oh yes, the Gotham City Justice Department had done such an excellent job! God forbid, those who had actually suffered mental illness get adequate compassionate treatment! The Master of Fear bit his tongue even though the hallways were anything but.

The mentally ill, the violent, the fraudulent who faked illness to get out of jail time moaned and groaned as if ripped from Dante's pages. The stench of those who had not bathed, properly anyway, for years was almost overwhelming had he not been used to it already. Inside many of the cells the walls were covered in vomit, blood, and excrement. He paused by the cell's window of The Riddler, his room could not be mistaken: Blood handprints.

"Agnus Dei, qui tollis peccata mundi, miserere nobis." He could hear her voice chant and continued his way towards her window. He tried to ignore those who screamed angrily at his walking. Crane could try and hold his head high but he was very much easy pickings at Arkham.

"Agnus Dei, qui tollis peccata mundi, miserere nobis." Mentally he railed against himself. Why was he doing this? What would he say to her? I'm leaving you here to rot, goodbye? He paused at her cell to get one final glance at the brunette he so desperately did not want to leave behind. She was wrapped up tightly in a straight jacket with her last name inked on it "Cardoza". That meant she was having her flashbacks again.

"Agnus Dei, qui tollis peccata mundi-" He tapped on the window which interrupted her chanting. She spun around facing him with those wide frightened eyes of hers and, he would never admit it, the momentary look of terror sent a delicious thrill him. It lasted only a moment a smile blossoming on her face as soon as she saw it was him but Crane savored it all the same.

Cardoza slipped off the bed and walked barefooted to where he stood. Jonathan Crane wasn't the most handsome of men, too tall, too thin. His orange scrubs were way too short and his glasses too big. His mouth was getting dry and his brain froze. He couldn't do or say anything and he cursed himself for feeling such a stupid inane emtion!

He put a hand on her window as if to apologize. _I'm sorry. I need to leave. I must. You don't understand._ Cardoza's smile faded but she nodded yes. She did understand and motioned with his head for him to get going while giving him a sad smile. _I understand. Go. Before they find you._

"Dona nobis pacem." She finished her chant in a whisper. Crane removed his hand and returned back into the shadows to disappear into the night.

Hours later, in the garage area of the Iceberg Lounge, The Scarecrow, now properly attired was about to take his scrubs and leave.

"Crane." Cobblepot grunted while giving him an already opened envelope. Though he had retired The Penguin still remained the center of the Rogue's world. Crane looked over the letter inside it. The hand writing was definitely The Mad Hatter's.

"An invintation to a tea party," Cobblepot mentioned, "I heard he has a new 'Alice' too, and not the blonde one either." He turned to return back to the fine company of Gotham's elite. "Do tell me if she's a looker!" He called over his shoulder leaving Crane in the garage. A teaparty…and Hatter's got a new girl. Scarecrow shook his head of his thoughts of _his_ girl. The one he left behind.

((I own nothing except for Cardoza. Mentions of Hatter's girl belong to Jenni Lynn's Down the Rabbit Hole.))


End file.
